


He's Always Sad.

by pokemonfan224



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Depression, Good Sibling Allison Hargreeves, Good Sibling Diego Hargreeves, Good Sibling Luther Hargreeves, Good Sibling Number Five | The Boy, Good Sibling Vanya Hargreeves, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Needs Help, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Mental Illness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Unknown Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokemonfan224/pseuds/pokemonfan224
Summary: It sort of hit him all at once but also hit him in stages.Maybe it was days, maybe it was weeks, it could have been months but what is time. Five would know the answer to this question but he wasn’t sure where he was.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 167





	He's Always Sad.

**Author's Note:**

> This is highly triggering and talks about mental illness, self harm and suicidal tendencies. 
> 
> Also i was planning on this being maybe 1k but it's over 5k so whelp. Enjoy I guess. It's not beta'd or anything.

It sort of hit him all at once but also hit him in stages. 

Maybe it was days, maybe it was weeks, it could have been months but what is time. Five would know the answer to this question but he wasn’t sure where he was.

He sat staring at the hotel walls, he doesn’t know what hotel he’s at, doesn’t know when he got here or how long he’s been here for. He can see his siblings but he’s not sure if they can see him. He can hear them but they seem far away, maybe he’s high even though he knows he hasn’t taken anything since before arriving in Dallas. He’s not in Dallas right now, or maybe he is. If he was in Dallas, Ben would be with him but Ben isn’t with him right now. He might be, maybe Ben is talking to him and he just can’t hear him. 

He feels like he’s underwater, like there’s water in his ears. Maybe that’s why he can’t hear his siblings trying to figure everything out. His eyes sting and he thinks he got water in them but he makes no move to rub them. They feel dry anyway. Dry and sore. Maybe he is high after all. He’s sad. Yeah, that’s it. He’s sad. 

He doesn’t know if he’s changed his clothes, if he’s still wearing the ones he arrived back in the 21st century in or if he’s changed. He doesn’t know when he got to the hotel or how long he’s been here for. Maybe he doesn’t own any other clothes but that’s okay, he’s used to wearing the same clothes for long periods of time. This is just the same as before. 

Except it’s not the same as before. If it was before Ben would be here and he isn’t. Or maybe he is. He’s pretty sure he isn’t though. Diego’s here. And so is Five. And Vanya. And Luther. And Allison. He’s pretty sure they’re here. He can’t really hear them properly.

He’s not sure what happened but suddenly he’s in the bath and Diego is kneeling next to him. Klaus looks down and his clothes are gone. Was he wearing any before? He can’t remember. There’s water in his ears and he can’t understand what Diego is saying but he knows he’s talking because Diego had placed his scarred hands on his cheek and turned him gently and his mouth was moving. He can’t lip read and there’s water in his ears and he doesn’t understand what Diego is saying. 

He’s not high but he feels like he’s floating. He’s not drunk but he feels like he’s stumbling around the room. He doesn’t remember how he got into this room, doesn’t remember why he’s here. But his siblings are here. The bed is soft and his siblings are here and they’re looking at him with prying eyes and he doesn’t understand why and his eyes are dry and sore and he can’t tell if he’s blinking or not. 

Five snaps his fingers in front of his face, looks as Allison tells him off but doesn’t move. Or maybe he does. He doesn’t know. He’s not wet anymore, the towel Diego had put around him was replaced by an oversized hoodie. Or maybe it wasn’t meant to be oversized and he’s just skinny. Hoodies are nice though. Ben wore a hoodie all the time. He misses Ben. His face is wet but he doesn’t realise until Allison is dabbing at his cheeks. He looks her in the eyes and she smiles softly at him and he smiles back but he isn’t sure if he does. 

He’s sitting at the table in this room. The room of a hotel he doesn’t remember arriving at. The room he doesn’t know how long he’s been staying at. Vanya is sitting next to him and he looks down to see a plate in front of him. It’s dark outside but he doesn’t remember it being sunny earlier. Luther is across from him and he puts some food on his plate. He doesn’t know what they’re eating. He can hear the sounds of knives and forks on plates. The water that was in his ears are gone. He doesn’t move his arms, can’t bring himself to lift them to the table. He doesn’t know how he got to the table. The table in this room. The room of a hotel he doesn’t remember arriving at. The room he doesn’t know how long he’s been staying at. Diego is next to him, telling him to eat something, even just a few bites. Ben used to say that. He misses Ben. 

He eats something but he doesn’t remember what he ate but Diego is smiling at him and he looks around the table and his siblings are also smiling. He smiles back but he isn’t sure if he does. He can feel it sit in his stomach, it feels heavy like a rock. Did he eat rocks for dinner? Feels like it. He stands up from the table, his legs hurt but he doesn’t know why. Feels his siblings watch his every move as he gently picks up his plate and takes it over to the sink. He’s on autopilot. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and everything hurts. He moves himself back to the bed. It’s big, too big. Too big and too soft. He’s used to hard things like concrete and park benches. Used to the uncomfortable feeling of the cots in Vietnam. Dave would hold him sometimes. He misses Dave. His Dave was in Vietnam. Dave was in Dallas but he wasn’t his then. 

It’s quiet but he feels a ringing in his ears. His ears are always ringing except when they’re full of water. Explosions and gunfire do that to you. Ghosts screaming at you also do that to you. There’s a ghost in this room, just one. He’s hanging from the open wardrobe, legs splayed out in front of him almost like he’s trying to sit. He’s groaning and gasping but there’s a ringing in his ears and he can’t hear it very well. He’s the one closest to the wardrobe. Diego is lying next to him. He knows this. Diego used to let him sleep in his bed when they were kids and he didn’t want to deal with the woman who had her face burnt off that would try and touch his face. 

His ears are full of water again. His arm is getting numb and cold but he can’t bring himself to lift it into the tub. It’s so cold in the bath. He’s always cold. Every time he enters a room the temperature drops a few degrees. He remembers his siblings complaining about the cold a lot when they were young. He runs colder than most humans. He doesn’t feel very human. 

Vanya wanders in, maybe she heard the tap running. He doesn’t turn it off even though the floor is slowly getting wet from the bath. He’s wearing clothes that he doesn’t remember putting on. An oversized hoodie. Ben wore a hoodie all the time. He misses Ben. 

His eyes follow Vanya’s movements as she looks at him, a sad smile on her face as she reaches over and turns the tap off and reaches in and pulls the plug so the bath will stop overflowing. He looks at her and then Diego is in the room too and both of them are gently lifting him out of the bath. Diego lifts his arms up to remove the now soaking wet hoodie and drops it on the floor next to him. It makes a loud noise and it startles him but not enough for him to move. His eyes widen though and Vanya is quick to wrap a big towel around him. Maybe the towel wasn’t big and he was just small enough for it to be big. 

The lights in the room are on and Luther, Allison and Five are in a room next door. Or maybe they’re not and they left. Like everyone always does. Vanya and Diego are here though. His ears have water in them and he doesn’t understand what they’re saying. He feels sad. 

He feels sad and he can feel it in his bones and he can feel it in his veins like all the drugs he used to fill himself with. It sinks into his bloodstream. It weighs him down. He feels like he can’t move. He feels like he can’t breathe. He feels like he can’t talk. 

It’s a sort of sad that he’s always had. It gets worse sometimes and it gets better sometimes. But it’s always there. He wasn’t this sort of sad when Ben was here. He wasn’t this sort of sad when he was with Dave. But neither of them are here and he feels like he can’t move, breathe or talk. 

When Dad died, he was sad but he was always sad. He wasn’t sad because his Dad died, just sad overall. He’s always sad. Baths were comforting. He would climb in after trips to the mausoleum and play music through headphones so loud he couldn’t hear any of the ghosts that had followed him into the bathroom. It doesn’t fit his whole body, he’s always been tall. All long and thin. All sharp angles and pointy limbs. Sometimes if he didn’t have music, he’d dunk his head under the water and stay there. He can’t hold his breath like Diego but he likes to think he can try. He does it until his body tenses and his lungs burn. Until his head screams and his throat is raw. Until his heart is beating fast and all he has is the air in his puffed up cheeks. Only then does he break the water surface, head lying back on the porcelain tub as he breathes heavily. 

Vanya found him in the bath and turned off the tap. Diego helped him out of the bath. Now he’s sitting on a bed that’s too big. A bed that’s too big and too soft. There’s water in his ears and he doesn’t understand what Vanya and Diego are saying. He closes his eyes. His eyes are dry and they’re sore. He should sleep and he’s not sure when the last time he slept was. He doesn’t know if it’s been hours. He doesn’t know if it’s been days. He doesn’t know if it’s been weeks. 

The ceiling has bumps on it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Seven bumps. Seven kids. Six kids. Ben isn’t here anymore. He misses Ben. There’s no water in his ears and he watches the seven bumps on the ceiling fade as his eyes don’t focus. He can hear Allison and Five and Luther now. They came back. They came back to the room. 

He’s holding his breath. He can feel his heart rate slow down. He takes in a deep breath and holds it like he’s back in the bath with his head under the water. Except he isn’t underwater because his ears aren’t full of water. 

“Klaus”? It’s Diego again. It’s always Diego. It used to always be Ben but now it’s always Diego. His hair is a mess, he hasn’t gotten it cut since returning from Dallas. He has bags under his eyes. 

He’s looking at Diego now. His neck hurts but he turns his head to look at his brother. Maybe he’s the older brother now. He was in Dallas before any of them and he went to Vietnam. 

Diego is sitting on the bed and he’s not sure where his siblings are. They’re silent and it feels like meal time at the Academy except there’s no classical music playing. Just a ringing in his ears and the moaning and groaning of the wardrobe ghost who hang himself. Diego looks like he wants to reach out and touch him, stroke his hair like their mother would when they were sick. He might be sick. He’s not sure. He’s sad. He’s always sad.  
“You need to talk to us, Klaus” Diego says softly. “We don’t know what’s wrong”

He turns his head back to the ceiling. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Seven bumps. Seven kids. It’s sunny outside but he doesn’t remember falling asleep. Doesn’t know what time it is. Doesn’t know what day it is. Doesn't know how long he’s been here. 

“We love you, you know that right?” He asks. Deep down he knows that his siblings love him. They’ve never been very good at expressing it but the time in Dallas really brought them all together as a family. It took them 30 years to learn how to love and they’re slowly getting better at it. All six of them loved him and all five of them love him. 

“I know,” he says. His voice is quiet and raspy. Like he hasn’t used it in a long time and he doesn’t remember the last time he spoke. Diego’s eyes widen a little bit, probably not expecting him to answer but he doesn’t say anything. 

He reaches his hand out of the hotel cover and wraps his hand around Diegos. He likes holding hands. Dave would hold his hand in the trenches and he held his hand as he died on the battlefield. He misses Dave. Diego smiles at him though and he smiles back but he’s not sure if he did. 

He burns. He’s hot but he’s always cold. He’s colder than the average human and it’s always been like this. His skin burns like he’s passed out and the cigarette has fallen and burnt his skin. His head hurts and he feels the fire in his head ignite. He’s not sure what day it is. He’s not sure if the conversation he had with Diego was a few minutes ago or a few days ago. It’s the same room though. The same room he doesn’t remember arriving at. The same room with the seven bumps on the ceiling. Seven bumps for seven kids. 

His blood is boiling and he can feel it bubbling and he wants to rip his skin off to make it stop. He’s hot but he’s always cold. But he doesn’t feel cold. He feels like he’s on fire and he feels the fire in his head ignite. He wants to be so cold he’s numb. Numb like the nights he had to sit outside in alleyways because he couldn’t find a place to sleep. He’s so hot and he’s out of breath. He might have a fever. He might be sick. He’s sad. He’s always sad. He’s so hot that his eyes roll into the back of his head, completely and utterly wrecked. 

“You’re just hot” Luther says, he reaches out and moves the hair stuck to his forehead. His hair that hasn’t been cut since returning from Dallas. Luther tries to smile at him, it comes out more as a grimace but he tries nonetheless. Allison is here too. She’s nodding along and he wonders if she’ll say anything. She grabs his hand and softly threads their fingers together. Dave used to do that, on the nights they had off and they could lie out in the humid night and look at the stars. He misses Dave. 

He’s hot like he’s back in Vietnam and feeling the heat from grenades and bombs and the hot days and the hot nights. It takes him a moment to realise that she’s holding his hand and wiping blood off his arms with a damp hand towel. He winces because it stings. Stings like there’s salt on the towel, stings like there’s vinegar soaked into the towel. He doesn’t pull away and Allison continues wiping his arms down.

Luther is still running a hand through his hair and his eyes dart up to look at him. He smiles and this time it isn’t a grimace. His arms are clean now, there’s no blood but there are deep scratches. They’re jagged and red and go from his shoulders down to his wrists. 

“How do you feel?” Allison asks and he looks at her. He looks at Luther. He looks at the wall in front of him. He doesn’t remember sitting up but it makes more sense. 

“Tired,” he says. “Hot”

Luther and Allison look at eachother and if he was younger he would have made fun of them. But he’s older now. He’s older than both of them. He was in Dallas for longer and went to Vietnam. Vietnam where it’s hot and Dave would hold his hand and they’d stare at the stars on their nights off. But Luther and Allison look at eachother like he hadn’t been asleep for over 14 hours before they found him with blood on his arms.

“You’re burning up” Luther agrees. He presses a cold towel against his forehead and leans into it. Luther frowns slightly and brings the towel that Allison used to wipe some blood off his hairline. He doesn’t know how blood got in his hair. He doesn’t know how blood got on his arms. He doesn’t know why there’s blood under his fingernails. Doesn’t know why his lips taste like salt and blood when he licks them. 

The door to the room opens and Five is walking in. Five who quickly walks over and peers at him. Five’s eyes are darting all over his body in quick little movements and it makes him dizzy so he closes his own and leans into the towel that Luther has pressed against his forehead. 

“What happened?” Five asks. Allison and Luther don’t say anything as they stare at his arms. Allison busies herself by folding the bloodied towel and putting some cream on the scratches and Luther puts his other hand on his back so that he won’t fall backwards. The cream is cool on his boiling skin but it quickly melts and he’s hot once again. 

“Hi Five” he says softly. 

“Um, hi” Five replies awkwardly. He’s standing like he always does. Hunched over and fists curled. Arms not touching his sides and shoulders tense. He looks over the scratches as Allison puts the cream away and at Luther who’s dabbing the towel over his face and chest. “You alright?”

“Yes” he nods. The towel Luther’s holding drags on his skin a little and it stings. He’s sad but he’s alright. He’s always sad. 

“There was an incident,” Luther says slowly. Like he’s trying to find the right words. “We took care of it”

“Alright?” Five looks at him and smiles his weird little smile. “You didn’t kill anyone or anything, did you?”

Luther and Allison’s heads turn towards Five at a startling speed but he just smiles and shakes his head no. He doesn’t kill. He isn’t a killer. Isn’t a fighter. The man hanging in the wardrobe groans behind him. He watches Five’s smile turn into a frown as Allison moves away to soak the bloody towels. 

They’re all watching him back. Allison has her hand on his knee and Luther is still holding him upright. He smiles but he doesn’t know if he really is but his siblings smile back at him so he thinks he did. 

“Alright?” she asks and he nods. He’s alright. He’s sad but he’s alright. He’s always sad. For a second he thinks he’s really alright. But then he looks at the seven bumps on the ceiling. Seven bumps for seven kids. There’s only six kids. He misses Ben. 

The mirror is a lie and shows him something that isn’t him. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing here. Doesn’t know if it’s been minute. Doesn’t know if it’s been hours. But he can’t breathe and he wants to cry. His eyes are burning, they’re full of fire and heat and they’re dark like the skies of Vietnam, dark like the alleyways. Dark like the mausoleum. 

He wants to scream. Scream like the ghosts that scream with him. Maybe he’s a ghost. Maybe he’s a ghost like Ben. Except Ben isn’t a ghost anymore and Ben isn’t with him anymore. Maybe he’s a ghost like the man who hung himself in the wardrobe. Maybe he’s a ghost like the ghost staring at him in the mirror. Why doesn’t the ice and coldness of his skin put the fire out?

He’s so cold and he’s shivering as Diego sits next to him on the bed. The bed that’s too big and too soft. There’s ice on his skin and he feels it seep into what’s underneath. 

“You’ll be alright,” Diego says. Diego stretches his fingers and adjusts the blankets that are placed over his shoulders. Moves the hair that has fallen in his face. Diego has warm hands and he reaches out to grab it with his own ice covered hands and brings them to his face. There’s ice on his face but no one else can see it. 

He feels like he’s been buried under the snow. Hidden in an iceberg. He can’t feel his legs but it’s a feeling he’s used to. He’s cold like he’s been sleeping in alleys. He’s hot under the skin, blood still boiling and bubbling but he’s frozen on the outside. His lungs are frozen and he can’t breathe. They stop. 

Diego is still holding him when Vanya and Allison walk in with groceries. They quickly discard the bags on the counter and walk over to the bed that’s too big and too soft. They look at him while he tilts his head back into the pillow and takes a shuddered breath. 

“What’s wrong?” Vanya asks. He opens his eyes and he feels ice crystals fall from his eyelashes. 

“Cold” he replies. Allison and Vanya share a quick look before looking at Diego who still has his hand against his brother's face. He knows it’s not cold in the hotel room. The hotel room he doesn’t remember arriving at. 

“You’re hot and you’re cold” Allison says. She’s not asking, just confirming. He nods.

“And sometimes there’s water in my lungs,” he says. Sometimes. Sometimes he feels like he’s drowning and he’s swallowed so much bath water that he drowns in his bed. Maybe all the times he felt like he was drowning he wasn’t even in the bath like he thought. “Sorry”

“Why are you apologising?” Diego asks. He switches hands to hold his other cheek. “It’s not your fault, y-yeah?”

“I know,” he says. “I’m. I’m sorry for putting you through this”  
“You’re not putting us through anything” Vanya kneels down. She’s tucking in one of the blankets around his legs. His legs are numb and he can’t feel them. “We just want you to be okay. And you’re sick. We’re gonna help you get better, okay?”

His eyes are unfocused as he looks at his sister. There’s two of her, maybe three if he really looks but then his eyes refocus and there’s only one of her. He nods.

Sometimes it feels like his brain has frozen over and it disconnects from all the nerves in his body. Sometimes it feels like his heart is broken. It is broken. Dave is gone. Ben is gone. His heart is broken. It still works but it’s broken. 

His eyes are cold and they stick together and he can’t open them. The cold bites at him, bite at him like it wants something from him. Bites at him like it wants something from him like the cold is a ghost. Ghosts are cold and he runs colder than the average human. 

He can’t move because the ice has taken over his body, frozen every bone so they can’t move and he lies in the bed that’s too big and too soft in a hotel room he doesn’t remember arriving at and stares at the seven bumps on the ceiling. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Seven bumps for seven kids. 

He can’t move and he can’t breathe and he can’t think. He can’t drown himself to stop the ice and he can’t scratch the ice out either. He could find a knife to carve the ice off himself. It works until the blood freezes and becomes solid like some sick treat. 

Luther and Five are here now. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been there. Doesn’t know how long he’s been frozen for. 

“What happened?” Five asks looking around at his siblings. Looks at his brother in the bed, lips blue and shivering. 

“He’s cold” Diego replies and both Five and Luther look confused. Was it yesterday that was hot? Or was it last week? Last month? He doesn’t know. Luther walks over to bed, gently moves him like he’s going to break. He feels like he might. He’s so cold that he might just snap in half at the waist. 

“Cold” Five repeats like he doesn’t believe Diego. 

“Sorry” he says. He tries not to elbow Luther as he’s justled from his position in the bed that’s too big and too soft. Luther always ran warm, warmer than the average human and his body is big and sturdy. It warms him and he leans in closer trying to get as much warmth as he can. He’s cold. He’s sad. He’s always sad. 

“Don’t apologise” Five says. “It’s not your fault”

“Isn’t it though?” He asks. It is his fault. It’s his body. His mind. His illness. It has to be his fault. His siblings look at him and their eyes show anger that he knows isn’t directed at him. 

“It’s not” Diego promises “You’re sick and it’s not your fault”

“It’s not your fault” Vanya repeats 

“We’re just going to help you get better,” Allison finishes. 

He’s folding a piece of paper and he doesn’t know how long he’s been writing for. His hand aches and he puts the pen down next to the paper. He doesn’t know where he got the pen and paper. Doesn’t know where his siblings are. Maybe it was a thing where Diego told Allison he had to do something, who told Vanya that she couldn’t be there, who told Five that she had to go practice the violin, who told Luther that he was working on an equation and needed to go to the library, who assumed someone else was free. He doesn’t know. 

He puts the paper on the table. He moves it to the bed. He moves it to the other side of the bed where he sleeps. The bed is too big and too soft. He shares the bed with Diego just like when they were kids. It’s bigger than the bed they had as kids but he always found himself gravitating towards Diego in his sleep. He doesn’t know how long he’s slept. Doesn’t know if he’s slept at all. He’s so tired. He shouldn’t be but he is. Or maybe he’s allowed to feel tired. He doesn’t know. 

He leaves the paper on his side of the bed. The side of the bed that’s closest to the wardrobe with the ghost that moans and groans. The ghost who hung himself with a thick rope and has eyes that follow his every move. 

He wants a bath. Baths are good and calming. He likes baths. He had them all the time as a kid when he’d come back from the mausoleum. Baths are dangerous. You can drown in them, you can get kidnapped from them. Ghosts can drag you under and try to kill you in them. Ben was a ghost but he isn’t one anymore. He misses Ben. He misses Dave. 

He has a bottle of pills in his hand and he doesn’t know what they are or where he got them. They’re prescriptions. Not the fun pills he’d take in alleyways. Not the ones he’d sneak out of the Academy, down the fire escape, for. But he has pills and he’s shaking the bottle to a tune. 

Dave used to sing it to him in Vietnam, when it was quiet and it was the two of them and they’d hold hands on their nights off and look at the stars. It was the song they danced to in the club that one night, the song that was playing when they kissed and everything was alright. It was their song. Was. They don’t have a song anymore but that was their song. He misses Dave. 

The bath is already full and overflowing and he steps in, clothes and all, and it overflows like it did all the other times. His knees are sticking out of the water, it’s too small for him and he’s too tall. All sharp angles and long limbs. There’s vodka and he loves vodka. Maybe he stole it from someone or somewhere. He doesn’t care. He opens it and gulps some of it down as quick as he can. Feels the burn that it gives and how it’s different from the burning of his lungs when he tries to drown. Different from the fire burning beneath his skin. 

It’s hard to open the pill bottle but he manages. It’s muscle memory at this point. Opening bottles while under the influence of alcohol and whatever is going through his head. The only difference is that Ben isn’t here to say anything that could stop him. He misses Ben. 

He swallows the pills effortlessly even though his throat burns. It’s familiar and that’s what he needs right now. Something familiar. He swallows the pills down with vodka and it’s comforting to know he still has it in him. The more he swallows the less good it feels. It hurts and scrapes against his already sore throat. He feels the pills get lodged in his throat and feels them sit like rocks in his stomach. There aren’t many left in the bottle but his hands are weak and he lets the bottle of vodka fall to the floor and the bottle of pills float around the water. He’s sunk down so that his mouth and nose are underwater and this is nice. It’s warm and he’s cold. He’s always ran colder than the average human.

The water is warm and he’s cold and he opens his mouth and the water comes in and it fills up his lungs with water. He’s burning but he’s cold. He’s burning because he can’t breathe but he forces himself to stay underwater. He’s going to beat Diego’s record.


End file.
